


Pomegranate Seeds

by AmaraSquid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaraSquid/pseuds/AmaraSquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat is the God of the Underworld, Hades, if you will. Dave is his lover filling in the shoes of Persephone. The two of them have an interesting dynamic in the harsh world below, and both of them find themselves apprehensive at the fact that in a mere two weeks Dave will be gone from the Underworld and with Bro for six months again. Karkat reminisces, the two talk, and life, life tries to go on. </p><p> </p><p>AU by the lovely- http://spirit-rush.tumblr.com and http://loudangryelling.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Spring Breeze

A pale gray hand runs through stark black hair as he sits on the usual throne. There is, for once, not a slight chill in the air of the underworld. The dead rejoice at the flicker of warmth, it means something different for them. Karkat has, over the years come to associate the light, pleasant, warm breeze with spring. Spring has one meaning for him now. No longer is it a time for warmth to spread through the underworld, or even a sign that soon the steady input of souls would lessen. People often died less in the summer, it was the winter that he found himself working. Of course there had been a time without winter, before he'd found himself with a lover to warm his bed. A bed that before Dave, had never needed warming, it had never been cold. There was a certain level of blame he found himself saddled with when he thought of fall and winter. Of course it had, quite entirely, been his fault. He'd handed Dave the fruit, he'd urged him to eat the seeds, he'd refused to return him to the living for the entire duration of the year. It wasn't as if Karkat even had the option to go against the magic that was grown deep within the fruits that grew here. That was beyond him, beyond any of them. Of course Bro had been angry, and of course Karkat had put on a brave face, told him to essentially fuck off, told them how it would work from now on.

As it turns out the other gods do not approve of upsetting the God of the Harvest, that, and Bro Strider just so happened to be the most temperamental god out of that lot. Karkat maintained the opinion that the other gods would've accepted their son's fate and would've decided that damn near wiping humanity off the face of the planet was not a suitable way to solve problems. Bro of course had decided that was the exact way to solve the problem. People had died in droves, hundreds, thousands, it hadn't reached millions. He still felt ill when he recalled his younger brother sauntering down from Olympus to speak to him, to demand he return what he'd stolen. Stolen was a strong word, or so Karkat liked to think. He certainly deserved Dave. He deserved to have someone here. He deserved a great many things. The others hadn't agreed, but, they could do nothing, and now that spring was creeping forward he found himself in a similar situation. It amazed him to no end that Bro was still allowed to carry on in the way he did during Dave's absence. Winter and fall persisted, and the souls came in droves, but damn was he happy. It felt...unfair in a sense, that everyone else should rejoice over the warmth, the sunlight, all of it while Karkat felt himself tense up, felt that aching loss already. 

Two weeks and he would be sleeping alone again. Two weeks and spring would come, in the Fields of Asphodel what few flowers rested among the ordinary souls would bloom. Each flower would remind him of his lost lover, and he would watch, praying, hoping, that they would wilt and fall could creep back in. The warm breeze that stirred his hair, that stirred his men, that stirred the souls made him sick. He wondered if perhaps Dave could feel the breeze too, wherever he was lurking. It was likely he'd turn up soon enough, the closer it came to his exile back to the living world the closer the pair got. It was to make up for the six months they would be apart, to make up for the time in which Karkat would find himself irate and withdrawn from the world. There was no contact in these months. Bro made sure of that. Not even their lovely messenger god friend, as tricky as he was and as quick too, John, would be unable to deliver anything to him. It was complete silence, and for once, he found the very thought of it infuriating. 

Silence was of course something he enjoyed, he ran a tight enough ship around here. Not often did he hear the sounds of the darker parts of his domain. His throne sat rather in he center of the simple things, the Fields of Asphodel, Elysium, the Isle of the Blessed, the kinder parts. He'd moved it there not long after he'd found himself saddled with an unhappy lover for six months in the year. Of course the unhappy aspect had changed, to Karkat's knowledge anyway. He assumed Dave was as happy as he, after all it was Dave who often followed him around. Dave chased him nowadays, not the other way around. It was Dave who occupied his thoughts, but not his actions. He was, after all, the ruler of this vast expanse, and in his land he was to act as any proper king would. He was to rule. While he held no sway in the living world, here he was at his best, and in his opinion his very best was when Dave stood beside him. 

Dave, precious Dave. The name rested like a sweet sigh on his lips usually. Now it sat sour in his throat as he thought about what he was to lose. Often times men found comfort in what they had, what they were to gain, and the thought of loss did poison them. He was no exception in this case. But, he would avoid being bitter. He was a leader, while he often doubted he was the best of leaders, he was still one. Dave helped him lead as well. He could be harsh despite the flowers wound in blond locks. Despite the silk fabric that he wore draped around his person and the tanned skin, not gray like his own. Dave was touched by the sun, and yet, here he knew how execute the proper authority needed. Often times he was a moral compass of sorts. Sometimes judgement was hard, sometimes Dave made it easy. 

He spotted it when his gaze was sweeping over the gathered souls. All sorts of men, more of them would go to the Fields of Asphodel than not. His gaze flickered over the assorted men, heroes, women, whoever, and fell on the bloom that sat on the very edge of the field. A taunt, surely. Disgust flickered onto his face as he briefly stood up, black robes swaying and eyes flashing in that dangerous light. There was a quick gesture at one of the creatures that helped him out in the underworld. With that the bloom was cut, nicked before it could truly bloom, and handed to Karkat. Upon closer examination he came to the conclusion it was a poppy. A red flower. Red, red in the same way that Dave's eyes were. The irony, the pure sappy, horrid irony of the recognition of the color and the color itself were no lost on him. His thoughts always managed to flicker to his lover during times like these. Maybe he'd been ruined by Dave, or maybe he'd ruined the bright boy. It was hard to know these days. The flower needs to go, before Dave can see it. Before he can truly think about the meaning. The next group of souls are not judged properly, they will get no rest, and Karkat has assumed one of the moods he once grew famous for, he flower hidden, but not forgotten in the folds of his robe as he waits for Dave to surface again and calm the storm brewing in the air that is shifting slightly to spring.

He thinks about the flower during each and every judgement that day. Each time he directs a soul his hand ghosts over his robes where he knows the flower is, pressed against his heart. He hates it, hates the feelings of the pedals pressed up against his chest, hates the way it reminds him of Dave's touch. Dave is like the flower. Dave, is a gentle thing, or he was. Sometimes Karkat thinks he ruined him by asking him to take that bite of pomegranate seeds. That perhaps, he could've resisted his desire. Then again he has never been one to deny his wants, but always forgets his needs. Karkat likens himself to a starving man given an option between power and quenching his hunger, he picks power each time. Maybe that was why he ended up on his throne, one leg lazily thrown over the armrest while he leans to one side, head resting on one hand. Hundreds of years and there is still a draft, lightly pulling at his darkened robes and his heart as well. Dave has yet to surface. The next soul steps up, and he finds himself clutching the flower under his robe as the man tells him a tale and ends with a simple "I'm sorry for your loss again this year, dear king." He leaves him reeling as he walks towards the Vale of Mourning. Karkat finds himself wondering if perhaps, maybe, the story reminded him too much of his own and that was why he didn't send him to the fields. Perhaps he should depart from the throne today, let someone else take over.

He does not depart, despite the fact that everything is telling him to. Everything including the tight frown on the lips of all of his fellows. The souls have been careful to offer him small condolences for the loss he has yet to have. It amazes him that this trend of false apologizes has started, then again, people do all sorts of things to get what they want. He knows he did. Often times however they grow to regret getting the things they want. So many souls beg to head to the fields of Asphodel and when they find the plain space they find themselves so very unhappy. He had grown to feel indifferent about the feelings of the souls here. One must do that if they wish to continue ruling a place like his domain. Dave is his exception. Dave is his indulgence, and Dave is something he's already passed the stage of regret about. There was, certainly was, a brief period of time where he had thought he made a mistake with Dave. That he had been beyond fooled by the boy. That initial thought had almost been proven true, the first several years had been beyond rough. Dave had been less than ideal, and maybe, just maybe, he'd been slightly rude in his advances and mannerisms in such a way that caused the rudeness from Dave.

When he thinks about the time when Dave first arrived he finds himself in a strange mood, some mixture of irritation and good humor. Dave had, when he first arrived, done his best to push Karkat to his breaking point. He'd done his very best to make each day a living hell for not only Karkat but the other judges as well. He'd requested that Dave stay close in the beginning, to keep him from doing anything...unsavory. Dave had taken this as an invitation to personally annoy all of the judges. Each judgement was questioned, each soul was joyous about the friction, and Karkat felt like he was going to explode. He'd dug his nails into the stone armrests and demanded in varying volumes that Dave 'shut the fuck up.' Dave had been happy to do the very opposite. Times like these had made Karkat wish he'd taken the damnable fruit and thrown it right into the Styx before Dave could have eaten even one seed.

Things had of course gotten better after the first few years. Dave for one stopped flaunting the flowers in his hair. No longer did he tauntingly offer him one of the pure blooms waiting for Karkat to fall for his taunts and reach out, only to have the tantalizing bloom turn into a pile of ash. Oh how he desired to lightly run his hands through Dave's hair without destroying the blooms that grew there. They always came back, but each time they sat too close he found himself staring down at a reminder that Dave was, for half of the year, not his. That Dave was, for half of the year, enjoying the true warmth, enjoying the sun, enjoying all sorts of things while he sat here in the unforgiving world he ruled. At least on rare days he found himself in the company of John. When Dave was gone for those horrid six months Karkat actively sought out different people to talk to. If he wasn't trying to pass the hours he was trying to get some actual work done. Dave kept the place tidy too, sort of. He kept certain aspects of certain things tidy, like Cerberus. Dave had taken a liking to the beast, and so long as he wasn't hurt that was fine. Not that Cerberus would ever actually harm Dave, in fact, they got along swimmingly. Dave had his small 'No Death Gods Allowed' garden in a close proximity to Cerberus. It was a miracle Cerberus hadn't opted for disturbing the flowers by now. 

Dave's garden was a beauty, to say the least. It bloomed year round despite the cold and always it was the same flower, narcissus, the bloom that started it all. He found it endearing that Dave decided to grow them. Although he suspected it had started out of spite, perhaps it had started as a reminder of the world he lost for six months. He found his inability to enter, or touch the flowers less endearing. They were of the living, and he was of the dead. The only reason the flower tucked against his skin didn't wilt and turn to ash against him was the fact that it was purely of the dead. It was a subject of his domain. While it was likely Dave could grow the flowers that he could touch, he never asked. Dave was entitled to things. His garden was his own space and for the most part Karkat kept away. Dave's garden was usually only for himself and the one other he invited in, Rose. She was, to say the least, an interesting figure in the lives of those that dwelled in his domain. Her particular role in his domain was something that varied, and something he didn't question. One often avoided stepping on the toes of a witch such as herself. She and Dave had bonded, often times the two found themselves close, her pale ivory skin and equally white hair cut short created quite the contrast to Dave's own look. The slightly plump girl, mainly hips and chest, spent a large deal of time with him. The two shared a love for similar things, and she could touch the blooms he grew. Something that despite everything he found himself envious of, it was a petty thing and he despised the fact that he envied her. Green was not his color. Not that he crossed Rose or voiced his opinions of her to anyone spare Dave on those especially rare nights when everything was so calm that even the ethereal glow cast by his lover seemed less harsh, as if they were on an equal playing field. As if he were a full time citizen of Karkat's domain. 

Karkat likes to think that he is a generous guy, that he does his best to keep his desires from crossing the line. At times like these he considers stepping over that line. In his home in the room he shared with Dave he stashes away seeds, he could ask Dave to eat them. He could, and he wishes he would so very often. However, Dave would decline, he knows he would. It was selfish to want to him here all the time, it still is selfish. If Dave is here, then the world above is suffering horribly. At this point he's not sure why he keeps the leftover seeds. He's so very uncertain as to why he does such a thing, and each time it circles around his mind he comes to one conclusion, he is selfish. He's aware of this insecurity of his, and he keeps the insecurities talk away from Dave. He feels as if he has to, while he certainly trusts the boy it's just not something he can bring himself to bring up. He is ashamed of himself for having these fears, he is the omnipotent god of this land and he's still afraid of what others, those he cares about, see him as. Rarely he finds himself turning to one of the others. 

In times of trouble he turns to someone so few would expect from him, Kanaya. In the world above, the world of gods she is the Queen above them all. She is his unlikely ally. Kanaya is also here every so often, she comes to talk to Rose. He suspects had Kanaya not been married and her husband not been who he was then Rose and Kanaya would be a thing. Perhaps they are closer than he thinks, after all, Kanaya is safe from prying eyes in his domain. He's getting that strange feeling of panic that flutters in his chest again and he's considering calling her up. He would call her up in a heart beat if he knew she wasn't likely busy. She's likely trying to ready the others, ready herself as well. Spring brings infants, spring is her time as winter is his. Maybe the balance they have is why they've found this friendship despite the odds. He likes to think perhaps this is indeed why. In other circumstances he thinks maybe she would rule the gods with Rose at her side, but Rose is not the king, and a queen requires a king. Rose is a mystery and he thinks perhaps that is what draws Kanaya so close to her. She is moonlight, beasts, magic, and so much more, Kanaya is enthralled by her feminine mystique and wild soul. Perhaps some time ago he was too, no longer is such a thing a problem. He has someone to warm his bed as well, no matter how fickle the other person is. 

His thoughts are pulled away from the mysterious females that have come to be significant figures in his life when he spots the slender form sauntering in his direction. Even the way he walks is absurd. Karkat amazes himself yet again as he watches the boy make his way closer and closer. At his side he has Rose who is pulled close and whispering something in his ear. That ever-present smile is tugging at the corners of her lips. She gives the illusion of knowing something that no one else does, it's something that makes the god shift uncomfortably in his seat. Does she throw Dave off as well? Does she unsettle Kanaya also? The thoughts are quickly removed as he starts to be able to hear their voices the closer they get. Dave is covered in dirt, yet the white short gown or sorts that he wears is still pristine. He's giving off that glow again, brighter than ever, it marks him as truly alive despite the fact that he's living among the dead, your dead. He needs to prepare himself for banter with the both of them, as usual he goes for his favorite philosophy. The best defense is a good offense. He'll put on the usual asshole attitude and flaunt his power, Dave will crack jokes, and Rose will smile that knowing smile. As if she knows his secrets, things others should not know. 

There is nothing to do now but wait, wait for Dave to climb the stairs and take a seat on his lap as usual. The two will exchange soft words, maybe less than soft words, and everything will feel fine. Everything but the breeze that has picked up. He can see the strands of Dave's hair blowing softly in the wind as he does that half-smile thing to Rose. He's trying to be cool. He does a good job of it, had Karkat not gotten so close to him perhaps he'd fall for the act. He doesn't smile when he sees Dave. Dave isn't the only one putting on a show, he has to remain calm, neutral, the picture of the king of the dead. So for now, he will wait. Wait for Dave to comfort this growing insecurity in the form of something ironic and likely angering. The two will do something endearing, and life will go on for now as each day ticks by, closer and closer to spring. Closer and closer to his departure, and Karkat will hold those seeds in his hand and wish that he didn't need to be the leader. So for now, he will wait, and put on the show needed while he enjoys the company of his living, spring scented, stupidly beautiful Dave.


	2. When He Dreams, He Dreams of Poppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat thinks about several things that concern him as he trails his fingers across his sleeping lover's skin. In the night things almost feel calm, but when he closes his eyes and rests all he can feel is slight panic. When he dreams, he dreams of poppies and he feels the sudden fear that Dave will be removed from him in more than one way. Jade is introduced, and she is terrifying to the god of the Underworld, her and her damnable poppies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confirmed as fourteen chapters, likely with minimal dialogue, and later, maybe, a chapter where we hear some things focused more around Dave's perspective. Have fun.

Karkat likes to think he's doing his best with the world that was thrust into his lap. He likes to think that of his siblings he was the most fit to rule this land. He was the eldest of the three and despite his involvement in the war for the throne above all, he knew he'd find solace here. There is solace to be found in the world of the dead for likes of Karkat. While his skin has lost the glow it once had, years and years ago, he finds that it's a bearable loss. The loss often times is lessened by the presence of his lover. When Dave clings close his skin takes on a sheen much like it had when he was alive, and he finds that when Dave nips at his collarbone that it leaves lasting glowing swaths of skin. He's all for it, really, he loves the color and the feeling of it, but it reflects poorly on a man ready to judge a soul. He finds that he needs to look as formidable as the stories say he is, or run the risk of finding himself in a situation most unpleasant. A situation where he finds himself removed from his realm, his work, his lover too if such a thing were to happen. He's tried many times over the years to explain this to Dave, all in vain. The boy doesn't learn, he just leaves more marks and Karkat finds himself striding through the gates of the underworld luminescent kisses resting on his jaw and neck. Whenever he finds that someone comments, he ends it there. Ending in the sense they find themselves lacking a form, even in the underworld. He usually makes damn well certain people don't cross him like this, but sometimes he find exceptions. Kanaya, Dave, even Rose with her viper-like smiles are his exceptions. He's found that most of his companions are exceptions to the rules he's put in place. It's favoritism, and he doesn't care in the slightest, because all of them more than deserve it. 

Each one of them became his allies in this strange and often times uninviting and hostile world that he's come to call home. Kanaya defends him in the court of the gods sometimes, although she's careful about how she does it. To her the world is a game. He worries that sometimes she forgets herself and risks too much. She terrifies him when she's angry, which is an accomplishment all things considered. Dave is fearless, even in the face of Kanaya's rage. It amazes him how such a simple bloom had grown into an oak, sturdy, steadfast, and beautiful in a strange way. The only one less weary of Kanaya than Dave is Rose. He can still recall when Kanaya visited, enraged at the actions of her spouse. She had been spitting venom, a hostile glow to her. It was beautiful in a way, to see the way she lit up the world but now with the same ethereal glow that Dave cast. This was something entirely different, it didn't make the shadows dance as if it were summer, it made them flicker and grow as if a fire were steadily burning the place. Her rage could rival the furies. Rose had so calmly strolled up, and with a soft, ever knowing smile, she had laid a single hand on Kanaya's chest and pushed her backwards. She had been beyond startled by the action, he had been too. Never before could he recall anyone doing such a thing to the likes of her, it was sacrilegious, a crime of sorts if one got entirely technical. Then again, the patron of witchcraft was sacrilegious in her own right. Rose had never faced her ire, and Karkat hadn't stuck around long enough to find out what had gone down after the small scuffle. That wasn't for his eyes to see, and it wasn't a weight for his soul to bare. 

His thoughts turn in his head, ever flowing like the Styx. At times like these he thinks they are perhaps closer to the Phlegethon, the river of fire leading into the darkest pits. His arm is wrapped around his lover, the two pressed close in the bed they share. He has a total of thirteen more days like this, counting today. His time is running out, and soon, the bed will feel so very empty without Dave beside him. Even when he's asleep he gives off that faint glow. Karkat finds comfort on nights like these by running his hand through that perfect hair, careful to avoid the flowers. He's found that Dave is not a fan to waking up in a pile of ash because Karkat couldn't keep his hands out of his hair. Tonight he does his best. He does his best and doesn't sleep. A god such as the likes of himself does not need sleep, although since he acquired Dave's companionship he's found himself resting his eyes from time to time. He thinks, perhaps, he avoided it because he is not a fan of the goddess of dreams. Jade, is not entirely his least favorite person, but she certainly isn't high up among the gods he's come to enjoy the company of. They have an odd relationship, the pair of them. 

When he dreams, he dreams of poppies. It's how it always starts, and then he's walking on a path far stranger than anything he's encountered before. He can hear Dave up ahead as well. He can always so clearly hear Dave telling him to catch up, to enjoy the world of the living. He's never asked Dave about the dreams, never asked if it's truly him and they've met in the world constructed by Jade. A world that he recognizes so clearly as her domain, the place without time. It's an illusion and Dave does not see through it. Where Dave sees the world above, he sees the truth. It is a desolate place, a cave, and the river Lethe flows through it. He can't count how many times he's found himself jolting out of sleep, something hard to do once entranced by the timeless, tireless and yet entirely tired, realm. Each time he jolts awake it's to shake Dave, to summon him back to the realm of the waking, to draw him from crossing that line that should not be crossed. He's terrified Dave will step into the Lethe while dreaming. That Dave will forget everything, and he will jolt awake at night to find himself in a bed without that light beside him as he will in thirteen days. 

Sometimes he wonders if that temptation that Jade offers to Dave is retribution, or jealously, something, anything. She doesn't speak to him. He's painfully aware that she's gotten close to Dave, that she often inserts herself into that artificial world of Dave's. He's caught the boy growing poppies before. That caused a week of tension and refusal on Karkat's part to explain. Dave had lashed out, truly lashed out. He had spat on his shoes before launching into a rapid paces half-apology half-rant about why he was being unreasonable. He thinks his reaction was a small smile and of course, a demand that Dave leave the minute he was finished speaking. That he wait at their home until he was done for the day. For once in his life, Dave had listened and a pang of regret had sounded in his heart. It needed to be done, he had to put his foot down, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't blame Jade for the friction that existed between them. 

While Dave was music, Jade was dissonance. In his opinion she was likely too cocky, too powerful for her own good. Perhaps that came from being the spawn of the goddess of night, someone not even his stubborn sibling decided to confront. Jade is a foe unlike others, and he is so uncertain as to how to fight her he simply does not. He lets her trounce around in his head for now, one day she will cross his sibling again and Kanaya will not save her next time. Kanaya was stupid, in his opinion, to not seek punishment for her first transgressions. Then again, her deeds were forgotten in favor of helping Kanaya again. The two had been on opposite sides, and then the same once more. Both times Karkat had sat tense on his throne, half expecting to see something few saw, the death of a god. He'd looked the other way when Kanaya hid the girl with her mother, it wasn't his affair to involve himself with. He still finds himself hesitant to trust her, even if Kanaya does. The gods are smart to remember that actions repeat themselves, and if Jade can do such a thing to his sibling, why not himself? One must be cautious when it comes to the deities that control dreams and sleep, lest they find themselves in a nightmare and unable to shake awake. 

No, tonight he will not sleep. He's aware vaguely that is morning now. His thoughts trail towards brighter things as his fingers ghost across faintly glowing skin. He is just that when it comes to Dave, a ghost of sorts. He feels humbled around him. He doesn't feel inferior in the way that some of the others make him fell, or insecure even. He feels humbled and Dave does that to him. He can feel the flutter of Dave's heart, he's not sure why it even beats. It will never cease to beat, he is alive, and he is immortal. His free hand moves to his own chest and he feels the aching silence there. When he presses his ear to Dave's back, right between the shoulder blades that jut out, he can hear that steady beat. It is a comfort. 

When he closes his eyes, comforted by the steady beating of his lover's heart he does not see poppies. He doesn't see the all too familiar red leaves, he sees nothing. For the first time in what feels like eons, he does not dream about something that unsettles him. He doesn't dream at all, pressed up against his lover in the not-quite darkness of their room. It's a comfort, and he's so glad for it. As he slips through the comfortable darkness he thinks, and his brain in a sad moment reminds him that day thirteen has begun. He doesn't even have two weeks now. He has thirteen days before he begins to dream of poppies and a strange girl again. He has thirteen days before everyone does their best to comfort him. He has thirteen days before he sees Kanaya in her strange beauty and not-Dave glow. He has thirteen days until Rose invites him to witness the sacrifice of something, or tries to bring him to see necromancy in action all while flaunting that knowing smile that irritates him so. He has thirteen days until his room no longer feels full of light, and the flowers of Dave's garden start to wilt. He has thirteen days and he's not sure he's ready for that yet. 

He's not ready to lose touch with Dave, but he finds some solace in the dreamscape that Jade provides. When he finds himself forced into her strange world Dave is there. Even if he does worry about the Lethe, and losing Dave, he can at least see him. It's the one thing Bro cannot take away. It's the one thing that confuses him to no end. He does not understand his strange rival, he does not understand the girl with poppies in her hair, but he suspects she's come to like him in a way. He's kept his distance, and he's always been beyond kind go her sibling. Her sibling and Karkat find themselves together speaking more often then he cares to admit. He's a god of death, the god of death and Karkat can respect that. The twin of Jade has become a close friend to him, and when he seeks someone to spill his secrets to, he is the one. He is always the one.

He has been tricked before, the God of the Dead. Karkat can recall both of the times his friend found himself in a situation that he couldn't fix easily. John had to bail him out, and he had been beyond unhappy. Jake, is an interesting character. He's got an odd way of thinking, and speaking for that matter. He tends to use slang terms and words that have long since died out, sometimes he speaks in dead languages. He has a love for dead things, it comes with the occupation. Jake has scars on his wrists still from the shackles that held him when he was tricked. When he and Karkat speak, often times of his sister and her poppies, he rubs idly at them. Karkat knows that perhaps sometimes he is cruel when it comes to his friend, the jests, the japes, pretending he's forgotten his name. Sometimes he even threatens to push Jade into the river Lethe, these jests are not humorous to her twin. He curses, loud and angry before leaving, often times to collect the soul that he is due. Sometimes Karkat feels a tug of regret when he upsets the boy. He suspects a portion of the Lethe is made up entirely of the tears he sometimes catches Jake spilling, not that he comments on that. He feels that it is not his place to comment about how Jake chooses to show that he is upset. 

Karkat has come to be privy to the ways that many of his friends deal with their problems and grievances. Jake weeps silent tears into the river of forgetfulness. Kanaya lashes out and casts her terrifying glow as she levels those in her path. Dave writes lyrical verses and whispers them under his breath or tears weeds from his gardens. Jade he suspects picks the petals off the poppies she has come to love. Rose does a host of things, it depends on what happens to be upsetting her. Sometimes she drinks with the best of the gods, sometimes she helps someone down the wrong path. Sometimes she lets the witchcraft burn through her and she sees dark terrible things as she watches the crossroads, she lets her torches burn out, but she never weeps. Often times he suspects she is the strongest of them. He suspects that when the others have started to fade in the very distant future Rose will be among the last, and she will be smiling. She will shake her head and gesture to her eyes. She has seen the end, and he suspects she shares the details with Kanaya, perhaps even Dave at times. She copes with her sadness in a way that he can envy. He himself finds that others are hurt when he is upset. That when he finds himself angry, or saddened even, he lashes out. He doesn't have a number to express how many souls he's found being rejudged because of his moods, or how many things have perished because he was upset. 

He's hurt Dave in the past, not physically. Not even in his worst moods does he think he could lay a hand on him, although sometimes Dave challenges him to. He'll demand a fight and Karkat will turn from him, whispering that he is not Dave's Bro, he will stoop so low. It brings him a sick satisfaction to watch the anger fall from his face when he says such a thing, when he reminds Dave where he is, who he is with. When he reminds Dave again that he is not Bro, that there will be no brawl in his domain. No, they do not fight physically, but rather through words or small passive-aggressive taunts. When Karkat is especially angry he might take a stroll through Dave's garden and reduce months of work to ash. It's happened only once before, and he can still feel the sting on his cheek from where Dave fully lashed out. Dave planted poppies a week later. That year had been especially bad for the two, then again it had been not long after Dave's arrival. Of course it had ended so horribly. He's thinks that more than anything he's lucky that Dave didn't do worse. That Dave had waited until they were in the private quarters they shared before he lashed out. Karkat had slept alone that night and Dave had left to find Rose. Often times she acted as a comfort for his lover when the two quarreled. 

He would be lying if he said that he wasn't glad that Dave had someone else to lean on, in case. If Karkat ever came off too cold, or too hot headed Dave would have someone to seek company with, and he could feel at ease in the domain they shared. His eyes flicker over to his lover when he finally pries them open again from his dreamless thoughts, the pseudo sleep. Dave is still asleep, sometimes he's convinced that all Dave does is garden, complain, and sleep. Somehow one of his arms has ended up under the boy, the other thrown around his shoulders. Their legs are a tangle and Karkat needs to rise for day so very slowly he frees himself from his lover. Day thirteen, and he wishes more than anything he could stay and admire that sleeping form. He wishes that his hands did more than turn flowers to ash and guide souls, he wishes they could hold a pencil like a master artist so he could simply draw his lover when he's asleep like this. It's the most pure thing in the entire dead land, there is no arguing about that. Not even in Elysium would one find a soul more pure than that before him, and he'd be quick to end anyone who disagreed with that. He just can't help but wonder sometimes if he has it all wrong. 

Maybe Dave isn't the sort of person he has him pegged as. He's been fooled before, he doesn't, of course, actually think Dave is the shining example of morals. Dave can at times be more cruel than he. He knows how to rule. He also ate those pomegranate seeds quicker than expected. He's come to suspect that it's likely that Dave knew what he was getting himself into. Not that he ever questions it. He doesn't feel as if that is the sort of thing to question, and more than anything the truth isn't something he wants. However, considering Dave's personality it's more than likely that if he didn't want this relationship there wouldn't be one. Dave would make certain of that. It's not hard to find a different fate in the Underworld, if he were truly unhappy he could find a way out of it. The Lethe. Eternal sleep and roaming those fields of poppies with Jade, something. Karkat has grown to suspect that this is all of free will, that the seeds did nothing but create a way to keep Bro from ripping him out of the Underworld. Karkat doesn't question. He may have stolen Dave at first, but he hadn't forced him to eat anything, he had suggested and Dave had listened. 

He doesn't question it at all as he hears Dave stir slightly. Instead he slide on his robe, humming in approval a the dark cloth he's come to enjoy so much. A quick glance over his shoulder confirms his suspicion. Dave is awake, more or less. He's doing that thing he does where his eyes are half open and his breathing is still slow as a light grin spreads across his face. He's half awake, and Karkat is late to get his day started. 

"It's way too early to drag yourself out of bed, crawl back in. You're like the king around here, shit can run without you for another hour." 

He shakes his head in response to the demand. Shit can in fact not run without him for another hour. A sharp reply sits on the tip of his tongue, but it's too early in the day to get into this with Dave. It'll be easier to just walk out. To just stroll out and leave would be by far the easiest thing to do right now. He needs to be strong, he needs to be ready to deal with waking up alone, and so he leaves. He leaves and he can hear the startled noise that escaped Dave as he absconds without a word. He will come to regret this, and tonight, when he finds himself dreaming poppies he'll almost wish Dave would dive into the Lethe and forget all of the transgressions, minor as they are, that Karkat as committed against him especially in the last month. He'll watch Dave edge closer through the poppies, caught up in his own pleasant dreams, and he'll feel that tension come to rest in his shoulders again as his selfish desires come to light. He'll watch as Jade smiles at him, buck toothed and all too similar to Jake, and even John's. She'll come to be a friend one day, he thinks. He's befriended one child of the night, a second would not hurt. If only he could get over the hatred that has bloomed within him for those red flowers. 

After today he will have twelve days left with Dave, and then he will lose all contact spare what little he has in Jade's domain. After today, he thinks, he will befriend the strange girl. He'll do his best, anyway. He assumes too much, that she's even inviting his friendship. When Dave is gone he thinks perhaps he'll also do more to befriend Rose. Despite her strange smiles and haunting laugh he'll make the effort. Dave gave up six months of life for him, he can do the same, in a way. He cards a hand through his hair as he walks down the familiar path and embarks on the journey upwards to his throne. He finds when he gets there a single red poppy, and in the distance a smiling Jake. He'd do better to be careful around the pair, close as they are or not. His hands tap the stone armrests and he decides and audience with Kanaya would be best soon, a dinner perhaps. A dinner tomorrow evening would be a lovely way to remove some of the growing tension. He lifts the poppy, it doesn't turn to ash, it fades away like a dream does when one wakes up too quickly. He'd do well to invite her tomorrow. Tomorrow, day twelve in his countdown until he loses Dave, will be a celebration to remove from his mind the tension of it all. He'll have someone else provide the food.


	3. He Speaks To Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows he must speak to them, because he can taste the end, bitter in his mouth. He did not expect what he heard.

He's running, and he can feel the hot breath of something behind him. His father perhaps, but he can't look back. How many times had he hissed warnings to lovers not to look back, to keep their gazes averted forwards, that looking back was failure? He doesn't think he has a number for that as he sprints through the field. His Asphodel, tinted red in this strange light. The ever morphing colors and shapes of the flowers leave him reeling as he runs and runs. He can hear laughter behind him, and the closer he gets to what he can only assume is the Lethe from this point, the louder it grows. He can make out a figure, standing on the other side, head cocked to the side and a blade in one hand. He is Karkat, this is his domain, and he is painfully unaware that none of this is real. When he stops, coming to a sudden halt in what appears to be Dave's garden the narcissi don't wilt and turn to ash. Instead they turn into the flowers he grows in Asphodel, and it's only then that he realizes this is so utterly false. That none of this is real, that he is safe somewhere. The sky above is storming, lightning is arcing in strange shapes, and while he knows it's unreal, he's afraid. He's terrified of what this means for him, and when he turns to see the figure on the other side, he's come to realize it's Bro Strider, and he's smiling. He is never smiling, not when his eyes lock on Karkat's. 

When he finally rouses himself form the dream, from the utterly terrifying figment of his imagination that came with sleep for the first time in ages, he's aware of the feeling that he is filthy. He feels dirty, as if the pure sight of Bro Strider has somehow made him feel unclean. Dave is not beside him, and there are no poppies filling his head. He's so utterly uncertain as to what it is that is causing these shifts, these disgusting sudden nightmares that dance in his head like the untamed fires of Phlegethon. It hurts him, his heart seizes, and his ribs feel as if they're going to cave inwards and pierce what hides beneath. He hates feeling so utterly weak, and he hates how dirty he feels right now. When he rises he doesn't bother grabbing a cloak in the slightest, his gaze flickers around the room. His heart feels utterly empty without Dave, and he has twelve days left with Dave, twelve more mornings. His breath escapes him in a gentle sigh as as he turns to glance around one final time. He needs to clean himself, he needs to wash the unholy, the filthy, the disgusting feeling of the nightmarish grin smile off of his gray, lifeless, skin. 

The water washes over him as he sinks beneath the still surface, he lets it coat all of him, from toes to the top of his head. He likes it like this, the calmness beneath the water as he finds himself suddenly tempted to breathe inwards, to let the water fill his chest. Finally, he sits up, and breathes in the clean, waterless, air. He's uncertain as to if drowning is anything that he can do, but he's not about to try, he's not going to try. It isn't something he wants. There is a thin line, one that he isn't going to cross, and that rests in it. Other gods, they trounce around, and they find themselves walking a tight rope, they find themselves in his domain sooner or later. Gods can die. It's a simple fact, they are vulnerable creatures, just less vulnerable than others. Prometheus is someone that grasps that concept better than any of them. The water, gently holding him, a rapidly cooling caress, is starting to make him feel clean again. Finally, after an hour of soaking in rapidly cooling water, he feels clean, and it's a good feeling. It's as if he never had that unsettling encounter with his subconscious. A sick feeling in his gut suggests that his nightmares were not mental, but rather the work of something. Someone. He's acutely aware of someone, a name that brings a sick feeling to him. She is a strange sort, and she walks among shadows. The fates, upon his questioning of her, bare their teeth in a mock grin and tell him to quiet himself, he'll bring misfortune asking of others destinies. Yet, they have no problem doling out facts about others he might question. He toes the line between acceptable, and unacceptable as far as the fates go. Sometimes, he asks for Dave, they decline, sometimes he asks for Rose, they decline, and sometimes, he asks for himself, they grin their knowing, sharp toothed, smiles and whisper a thing or two. They like to torment him, and he feels suddenly very cold with the knowledge of their last session. The underworld feels unbearably cold for the first time. 

Roxy is someone he has taken to avoiding to the best of his ability. When she so rarely shows her face he hides his own, it's a game they play at this point. The two of them don't hate each other they share a common interest, Dave. He provides a different role entirely for her, something he doesn't talk about. Both of them avoid talking about it actually. Roxy is to him what the arrow was to Achilles, he thinks. He could be wrong, then again, he is so rarely wrong. He trusts his gut, he assumes he's correct, because he must. Being cocky helps him keep his grip on those that follow him. Being confident helps entice mortals into their general acceptance of him, not that they need very much enticing. They like him, in an odd sort of way. They leave honeyed wine for him, rarely, and he finds the small gifts to his shrines so very...nice. It's the only word that he can think fits there. They leave nothing for the others in his domain, sans of course, Dave, his lover, his other half. Rose is also an exception, but, the mistress of magic, is not exclusive to this area. The people like her, in a different way. They like to gaze upon the moon, to which she is the goddess of. They like to dip their hands in the ancient tomes of magic, to which she is the patron of. They like what she stands for, but so rarely stand and listen to her for long. She is cryptic. She is strange. She is lovely, in the way the sea is on a moonless night, it calls, and calls, but always in the back of your skull, the reminder sits, if you go out into the depths, you won't return. Rose was like that, the closer one got, the less likely they were to return from her. Maybe that would be the reason Kanaya remains so set on speaking to her, getting closer. Karkat worried for her. He worries about all of those close to him, these days. 

Kanaya is coming over for dinner, many people are. He's throwing an early farewell party for Dave, although he hasn't labeled it as such. Dave would not be flattered by the idea, he's certain Dave would, if anything, be tempted not to come. He's twitchy, as of late. It's understandable, of course, Dave is always twitchy in the time before spring, he becomes tense, he becomes rigid. Karkat will, in the nights they sleep so close, run a hand lightly down his back, feeling sharp shoulder blades, tracing his spine to the small of his back, and questioning in soft tones. Dave will not answer, he does not want to talk about it. When someone questions him on his guardian, he screws up his face, gets a slightly disgusted look, and shakes his head. It's this that made Karkat finally decide that yes, the stories were wrong, he's comfortable with here, Karkat did not steal Dave. If anything, Dave stole Karkat, he was the reason he neglected so many responsibilities for so long. Karkat is still crazy about him. If Rose is the moonless ocean, Dave is a wildfire. He is everywhere, he is bright, he is all consuming. He is, sitting in the room, hunched over a desk, and scrawling something in thick ink. Karkat hasn't the slight of ideas of what he's doing, and he doesn't make himself known. 

Dave is doing the thing that he does, clenching his tongue in between his teeth to concentrate, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, and the way the candle light flickers, his features are even sharper. _He is beautiful._ It's the first thought that crosses his mind as he watches him, he is intruding. When he goes to back up, he collides with someone, he is quick to spin around, teeth bared in a snarl, Karkat will fight with his teeth if he has no other option. His sickles aren't on him, not that he ends up needing them. Rose is standing there, dark as ever, he can see why people kneel before her, but he is older. Yet, he suspects she is wiser. 

"Hello, Karkat. It's pleasing to see you out and about once more. I'm glad that you're no longer sulking." Her words roll from her mouth like smooth water, she is so very elegant in the way she speaks. She is also taller than Karkat. He is tall, and so is she. She continues to smile, she is waiting for him to reply. 

"You're mistaken if you think I was sulking, some of us, have actual work we need to do." The reply slips from his tongue, clumsy, slow, Rose is not someone he can speak to. How does Kanaya trust her? What is she thinking? What is it that makes her so different than the rest of the gods? She is something foreign, new, strange. So he takes a step back, and he strides around her, he has to. Her presence in the room is suffocating, and he is fleeing, heading towards the throne where he so often sits. The fates will be there, he's certain of it. 

The road to the fates is different than one might expect. They are not at his throne, not the one he sits at nowadays. They are where it began, the fates are always where it began, that is how they are, and how they always will be, he is certain of that much. He raises a hand to lightly rub his jaw, cover his mouth, feel the skin around his jugular, just, trying to comfort himself. He wants to run his hands along Dave's soft, warm, living, skin, but he cannot turn back, because he is on a mission now. That, and he's slightly afraid if he looks down at his lover, he will see traces of the other man there. He loves Dave, and Dave loves him. He loves him the way that Achilles loved Patroclus. He would rage against the world itself if he had to, if anything befell his lover, he would end anything that offered itself as a challenge. Mortals can return from the dead, mortals always find ways from time to time, but, gods do not come back. Gods do not return from death's door, if they are ended in the correct manner. It's always a blow, when he finds that someone is gone, that someone has dissipated into the morning dew, returned to the stars, perhaps. 

The Moirai are older than anyone, they are the oldest thing, and they will be the last thing. They know everything, and they know nothing, and they more than anything, irritate him to the point of anger. He gets red in the face when he speaks to them, angry words slicing through their clever japes, silly riddles, anecdotes about his life. He should turn back, return to Dave, return to peace. People should not know they are to die, Achilles knew he was going to die. He's seen the lingering spirit, the boy with the arrow in his heel. He can recall the battle of troy so well, and he closes his eyes tightly before he moves forward, forcing himself to go, go, go. He needs to know, he needs to know how long he has with Dave, and he's certain they will tell him, now. So he opens his eyes and spots the three, they are speaking while working. All three standing rigid, a spool of thread in use, one pulls it, passes it the other who spins it into life, and the third, who with no mercy, only duty, snips it. The sound the shears make is painful, and he knows, each snip, snip, snip, is another member of his domain, someone come to rest in Asphodel, or elsewhere. He idly wonders, as he feels the edge of his clothing, did Prometheus ever hear such a sound before they chained him up? Was that not death for the man? His chest rises and falls rapidly as he notes that they are all working, yes, and staring at him, a cold smile on all their faces. They are beautiful, and horrible. 

Dolorosa, Signless, and Psiionic, the three that make up all of life, the three that have spun the life of the gods as well. Dave is a thread, he is a thread, Kanaya is a thread. It's strange to see an entire life reduced to a mere thread, it's also horribly, horribly, daunting. Yet he steps forward, one more time, and he notes how haggard they look up close. It is, as it always is, Signless that looks the most tired. He cuts the thread, when it is time, he removes his shears, and snuffs out the life of whoever it is that is ready to die. How strange a thing, and he wonders, do people take it for granted? Do they take lives so easily? He's, also very much certain that Dave takes life for granted, he runs so close to the edge. He walks the edge between life and well, the end of it all. He's going to end up very much deceased if he isn't careful, and the thought makes his chest feel as if it's caving in. What is Karkat with his husband? His co-king? _His life?_

"I'm here for information, no shit, just facts." He offers, eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the reactions of the three. They whisper to each other, soft words, it's clear who all is upset, and who is not. The Dolorosa is giving them a look, she's on his side, the Signless is most certainly not, and the Psiionic, he is undecided. Mostly he just, glances at the two beside him, careful as he thinks about all of his options. Finally the three turn in sync, the Dolorosa is smiling at him, his heart thumps heavily in his chest. This could mean victory, this could mean that today, he finds out more about the eventual end. 

"You're a fool to ask, Unseen one. Tragedy is sewn into the seam of your heart, of your being, you're welcoming it, you're bringing it closer. Most men try to avoid this, and yet, you bring it forth, as if begging for the serpent of sorrow to strike. You will regret this, this I know." The Signless says this, black eyes winking in response as he stares at Karkat. 

"It's not a jest, although, it's safe to assume you know this, carrier of all. You've come with questions regarding your demise, and I was fast to speak to you. The other two were less eager, though one desires no conflict. Lord Death, bearer of souls, eldest of brothers, unseen one, you are to listen, regardless of what you hear, and none of it is to pass your lips once more." She exhales, pure white eyes locked on his frame. He feels like he could drift away at a time like this, as if he could simply fade into the background, should he need to, and he feels like it now. So he nods, he just, nods and considers declining, he cannot tell Dave. Dave will not know, and Karkat will bear the weight of this truth, whatever it is they feel like disclosing in hushed tones, in soft caring words. He straightens his spine, and nods once more, before he is Karkat, he is the ruler of this domain, the king of the Underworld. 

When she opens her mouth, and begins to speak, he feels like he is withering away, he is getting smaller, and smaller, and for once, he wishes that he could close his eyes and see fields of poppies. It's never simply anymore. When he dreams, he dreams of everything but poppies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK WHO UPDATED, IT'S ME. GUESS WHAT. TUNE IN NEXT CHAPTER TO FIND OUT WHAT THEY SAID. this is also like, two hundred words shorter than usual, sorry. Rip. Either way, I'm doing my best here. Hit me up with opinions about it all? If you find anything wrong, hit me up, also.


End file.
